


Walzer

by Hedylog



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Flirty Salieri, Fluff, Getting Together, I have been informed that this is a Soft Fanfic, I watched like one tutorial to write this so don't come at me for technical inaccuracy, If you know about the exact history of the waltz, Interlaced their fingers for gay purposes, Love Confessions, M/M, Mention of alcohol, Mozart teaches Salieri to dance, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slight Historical Inaccuracy, but for like half a second, by that i mean, don't blame him that's the best he can do, then you might be slightly inconvenienced by my lack of proper historical research, yes this is a translation of my own work what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedylog/pseuds/Hedylog
Summary: Something has changed between Mozart and Salieri. During the evenings Mozart has spent in his rival's flat, the two composers have grown closer, but haven't taken the risk of confessing their feelings for each other. When finally, in Salieri's quiet living room, the echo of a melody brings them closer than they have ever been.





	Walzer

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Walzer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19256932) by [Hedylog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedylog/pseuds/Hedylog). 



They hadn’t been drinking, yet Salieri’s head was spinning as he laughed at another of Mozart’s jokes. The Salzburgian had spent the evening at his  _ rival _ ’s flat for the fifth time that month, and none of them knew who first suggested the idea, but they hadn’t taken the time to think about this new situation. Oh, Salieri had nearly succeeded during the first hour they had spent together, but the genius’ gaiety had smothered his dawning panic. The Italian had barely noticed Mozart’s astonishment when he had smiled, then laughed, lowering the walls he had kept between them for as long as they had known each other.

They had been taking turns at the piano for a few hours, playing light pieces and sharing some rare amusing anecdotes that they remembered from their childhood. They didn’t dare talk about the tension between them, about the matter that truly tormented them. Naively, Salieri thought that  _ it _ would suddenly disappear, though every new day was a witness of his and Mozart’s budding proximity. First, a speck of dust that the genius had brushed off Salieri’s shoulder on the first night, as the Italian was standing with his back to him - a miracle that allowed him to hide his flushing face. Then a brush of fingers, on the second night, when Mozart had handed him a bottle of wine - and Salieri had felt the ghost of this touch for hours. His hands absently adjusting the other man’s collar on the third night, as if driven by habit, as if… as if. On the fourth night, the genius’ delicate hand, shaking with inebriety, had tucked Salieri’s hair behind his ear as the Italian’s heart started racing, expecting, fearing, craving a resolution that never came. On the fifth night… on the fifth night nothing happened. They had taken turns at the piano, their shoulders brushing against each other every time they had exchanged places, but their tone still casual. After all, perhaps they would become nothing more than friends. Perhaps Salieri’s passion, mirrored in Mozart’s eyes, would remain unspoken. Perhaps they wouldn’t have to live in fear of being exposed and punished.

It was Mozart’s turn to play. Salieri had just recounted a memory of the monastery where he had spent a fraction of his childhood, a more painful remembrance than the ones they were now used to, and Mozart’s jokes had turned into comforting words. There was a muted atmosphere, Mozart playing a quiet piece as they sat in companionable silence. Suddenly, the music stopped and the genius turned towards Salieri.

“Suppose that I played a new melody, would you be able to recall it for a few minutes?” asked he with a mischievous smile

“To what purpose may I do that?” answered Salieri, caught off guard.

Mozart’s smile widened.

“I cannot tell you. Would you?”

Salieri studied him for a moment, failing to discern his motive. He sat back and crossed his arms.

“Without question. However, I cannot guarantee that I will be capable of reproducing it perfectly.

\- Ah, it won’t be necessary.”

Mozart spun on his stool and laid his hands on the keys. He waited a second, and Salieri saw him breathe in sharply, then he started to play. 

It was a waltz, slower than any that Salieri had ever heard, soft, but holding a wistful accent that seemed familiar to him. He closed his eyes. He was hoping that focusing on Mozart’s playing would allow him to understand the feelings that the genius had poured into this piece. Now and again, the rhythm slowed down, pausing, even, in the middle of a phrase, making Salieri yearn for the following note. Pining. As soon as his brain enunciated this word, the melody quickened. Mozart’s playing became more powerful, the notes higher, harrowing. Despair, it seemed. And suddenly, tranquility again, but there was no more pining. Salieri pondered over it for a minute, two minutes, five minutes, but he couldn’t interpret the meaning of this movement. He opened his eyes, his brows furrowed, and startled when he realised that Mozart was looking at him. The genius had a calm and sincere smile that barely wrinkled his eyes and his gentle, honest gaze, and Salieri understood. Love, it was love. His face relaxed as his heart started racing, and he managed to smile back. Mozart stopped playing.

“Do you remember the melody?” asked he quietly.

Salieri was still puzzled, but he nodded. He couldn’t risk shattering this delicate moment with a question. He kept still as Mozart rose from his stool and came up to him. The genius bowed, his arm outstretched with his palm facing up. 

“May I have this dance?” said he with a smile.

The Italian was frozen with shock. His heart was beating too fast, too fast, but he couldn’t miss this chance. He nodded again, took Mozart’s hand, and let the genius get him to his feet.

“I have never waltzed before,” said Salieri in hushed tones.

“Then simply follow my steps,” replied the other man.

Mozart guided Salieri’s left hand to his shoulder, then put his own right hand on the Italian’s back and interlaced their spare fingers. 

“Is something troubling you?” asked Mozart with concern after a brief silence.

Salieri realised, then, that he had been staring at the wall behind Mozart. He took a deep breath and, carefully, he gazed into the other man’s eyes. They were close, the closest they had ever been, but they still maintained a cautious distance between them. When Salieri offered him a sincere smile, the Salzburgian’s worry disappeared and he smiled as well.

“May we begin?

\- Yes,” whispered Salieri.

Mozart moved his left foot forward, and Salieri stepped back clumsily. When their knees bumped into each other, Mozart began to laugh.

“Ah, forgive me this oversight! You have to shift to my right so that we can move with more ease, like so…”

The hand on his back closed on his jacket and guided him one step to the left. He couldn’t look directly at Mozart anymore, but he had to admit that his legs had more room to move.

Mozart advanced his foot once more, and Salieri was quicker to react. The genius made them spin one quarter of a turn as his right foot moved aside, and the other composer followed his steps. Then, Mozart’s left foot slid on the floor, and they both brought their feet back together. 

“It is now your turn to move your left foot forward,” smiled Mozart. “You simply have to reproduce these two steps every other time.”

Salieri complied, and when he performed too short of a spinning, Mozart corrected it without a word. A quarter turn, then another, and by the last one of the first turn, the Italian had already grown more confident. As the second one started, their pace adapted to the tempo of Mozart’s piece, and Salieri began to hear the melody as they danced, as if Mozart was still playing. The pining he perceived found an echo in the aborted caress of his thumb on Mozart’s shoulder, in Mozart’s fist still closed on Salieri’s jacket. They both heard the crescendo, the rising despair, and their waltz quickened. Salieri wanted to hold Mozart tightly, assure him that there would be no torment, that his apprehension was unnecessary, but he also was terrified of the Court’s intolerance and of his own desire to give in to his passion. There remained this space between them, at once irritating and comforting, and as it did they could still deny the true nature of their feelings for one another, pretend that their bond merely was a deep friendship. 

The despair came to an end, and the echo of softer, lighter notes rang in Salieri’s mind. Love. He blushed and looked down, catching Mozart’s smile out of the corner of his eye. 

“You are a good dancer, Salieri,” said he, laughing softly. “I would have never expected such a surprise from you!

\- In your defense, we barely know each other.

\- Indeed.” He paused and seemed to hesitate. “I would be very happy to know more about you, however.”

Salieri felt a smile appear on his lips.

“Oh, and why is that?” asked he in a deep voice, with a confidence that he hadn’t thought himself capable of mustering.

When he looked up, Mozart was staring into space with a peaceful expression.

"Would you believe, Salieri," he began, pausing briefly to look at the other man, "That it so happens that I love you?" 

Unthinkingly, Salieri clasped the nape of Mozart’s neck and pulled him close, burying his face in the genius’ collarbone. When he realised what he had done, however, he tried to step back, an apology already forming on his lips, but Mozart’s hand held him back gently. They had stilled, but Salieri was still hearing the melody. He laid his head anew on Mozart’s shoulder and breathed deeply. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t put his frantic feelings into words, but a smile was spreading on his lips. Slowly, he moved his right foot back and drew Mozart in another waltz at the center of the room. The genius began to laugh, that shrill laugh that Salieri was so fond of, and the Italian buried his hand in Mozart’s - in his lover’s? - hair that he stroked tenderly. The hand in his back pulled him even closer. As they spun, Salieri closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I love you as well, Mozart.”

And the room was silent and the world hostile, but the melody in their heads spoke of a peaceful fate. At long last, they were happy.


End file.
